To Be a Saiyan Again
by chibitrunk
Summary: Driven by his need to reclaim his self-worth and rekindle his Saiyan's pride, Vegeta left Earth for the first time in over twenty years…without his family. What will he find? Will he return?
1. Chapter 1 - Routine

**To Be a Saiyan Again**

**Chapter one - Routine**

* * *

His eyes snapped open. It was the same every day whether it was rainy, sunny or if he felt like shit or not. Precisely at five in the morning, before the break of dawn, without the assistance of those annoying contraptions, his body automatically rose from its restless slumber.

After a few seconds of allowing the lingering drowsiness to dissipate, he pushed himself to a sitting position and threw his legs off to the side. His body knew exactly what to do without even thinking. He let his feet guide him to the closet not far from the sleeping quarter. He flipped the switch, illuminating the interior of the extravagant room filled with hundreds of shoes and thousands of silhouettes. Those things they called purses were abundant, lining against the wall in an almost compulsive order, color-coded and organized by brands. Of course, those were not his. His items were few, occupying only a small fraction of space in this room. He owned only a few necessities; towels, training attires and maybe a few more proper wears saved for rare occasions, occasions that forced him to leave the compound.

He grabbed a few clean towels and threw them around his neck. Flipping off the switch, he proceeded to leave the room. On the way out, he paused, silently looked at his sleeping blue-haired demon. The bed was huge. It had plenty of room to comfortably fit two to three adults, but some time during the night, she would leave her side and roll to the edge, closing the distance between them. He would often find her arms around him or her head resting against his chest. It did not bother him.

A light snore escaped from her, followed by a light groan. The sleeping figure grabbed one of the many colorful pillows and pulled it against her chests. She rubbed her face against the bright pink pouch. He had long accepted the fact that arguing over her aesthetic choice was a losing battle. He had learned to live with the womanly designs, much to his dislike.

She would not be awake for another two hours. He continued his path, first out the doorway, then down the corridor and then proceeded down the stairs into gravity room. Other than the need to get stronger, training and sparring was a form of outlet to release the excessive energy built up in his full-blooded Saiyan body.

He walked to the controls, without thinking, he programmed it to two hundred above Earth's gravity level. Fifteen minutes later, he turned it up to three hundred. He continued to adjust the gravity at half hour interval until he reached six hundred.

After three hours of mindless training, he re-adjusted the gravity level back to zero. Most of his towels were now soaked, his tank top heavy. It was a cue for him to take a shower. He spread a dry towel on his face and pulled it down until the last drop of sweats was gone. Throwing the towel around his shoulder, he pressed the button to release the lock on the door.

Three hours ago, the house had been engulfed in complete silence, but now, it was filled with screaming and yelling from his brats. Every morning was the same. He had grown used to it and knew exactly how to avoid those needy demons. He had chosen to end his training at this hour since the kids along with his woman were waiting not so patiently for his arrival in the dining area. This would lessen the probability that he would run into one of them.

"Mommy! Trunks stole the pancakes from my plate!"

He ignored them. As much as he needed fuels in his body, he rather avoids the constant bickering and bantering for as long as possible.

Another half hour had passed and now he was clean. Sighing, he headed to the dreaded dining area where his foods await. He braced himself as he stepped in. Sure enough, the little blue-haired, pig-tailed demon ran to him, throwing her arms around his leg. She looked at him, grinning so wide he could see her two front missing teeth.

"Daddy! Morning!"

He grunted as usual. He continued to the dining table with his brat still hanging from his leg. He did not shake her off. He had tried, but the brat was stubborn. Every time he attempted to shake her off, she hung on even more, giggling and laughing the more he tried. He soon realized that she actually enjoyed it, so he had given up, allowing her to do as she wished. Now this had become their morning greeting.

When he reached the dining table, she jumped off, waved her hands and exclaimed, "Thanks, Daddy!"

Again, he grunted. He sat down on the empty seat, his seat. Pancakes, sausages, smoked hams and wild boars piled on his plate. He picked up his fork and stabbed a piece of pancake and popped it in his mouth. The same breakfast.

"Morning, Dad."

"Morning, Vegeta."

As usual, he ignored them, going about his meal. They did not seem to care. They returned to their conversations.

"Mom, I need money to buy that awesome new game system. It has all the latest technology and come with amazing games!"

"Trunks, you're eighteen! Stop being a child and grow up already," his woman said as she picked up the empty dishes. They have cleaning bots, of course, but she had insisted she did not want to lose the fundamental values of a woman. Whatever that meant. Chores and cleaning after her family was something she actually looked forward to, especially after a day of intense battles with her subjects. She had to be on her guard when she was at work. At least that was what she had always told him. Not that he cared. She had always made it a point to share all her glory details with him whether he liked it or not.

"But, Mom! You don't understand! Do you know how cool it is to be the first one to own one of these suckers!"

"Ooohhh. Is that a swear? Bad Trunks!"

"Oh shut up, brat! Suckers is not a swear. Go look it up in a dictionary."

"Don't call your sister a brat! Seriously, Trunks, you're still acting like you're twelve. Maybe I should put you to work and teach you some responsibilities."

"Yeah, Trunks. Stop calling me a brat. I'm five. Me not four anymore. Only four years older are called brats."

He chewed on his foods, expertly drowning the rackets around him. As long as they did not pull him into their useless bickering, he was more than willing to eat his meal in complete silence.

"Dad still called me brat! So I can call you a brat whenever I want."

From the corner of his eyes, he saw his youngest scooped her oatmeal and then pulled the spoon back from the tip. She let go, propelling the substance into the air, over his head and into the stun face of his eldest brat.

"You…you…little witch!" The table shook. His foods flipped off his plate. There was not much left on the plate, but nonetheless, it was still his food. This bickering was seriously testing his patience. He felt a growl ready to escape.

The little one stretched her lips into a wide grin and stuck her tongue out, thus further infuriated her brother, who then started to give chase. He had to admit. His little one was fast. She was also clever, choosing to run under the table, making it difficult for her bigger and taller brother to pursue.

"Dende help me. You two stop this right now!"

He swallowed, finishing the remaining breakfast. He stood up and the room became silent. Trunks stopped. Bra stopped. Bulma stopped. He threw them a glare, grunted and turned to exit the room. The silence remained. He could feel their eyes on him, watching him until he completely disappeared from the room.

Soon the noises returned, but it was no longer his business. He left all these so called parenting to Bulma. He retreated to his bedroom, walked into the closet, grabbed a few clean towels and returned to his training. Sometime around noon, the house was empty. Bulma left for work, Trunks went on about his business, whatever that was, and Bra was in the day care center. Dinner would arrive all too soon and his family was once again in the dining area. This was the time everyone reported what they did during the day. It was all mundane. Bra always talked about her arts and crafts and how good she was at it. Trunks talked about his day with Goten and his other friends that he did not care to meet. Bulma usually saved her report until it was just the two of them.

Night arrived and it was back into the bedroom. He realized it had been awhile since Bulma had made any advances and soon he, too, had made less and less. They went to sleep and the day started over again the same way and ended just the same. So did the next day and the day after. It might vary from time to time, but it never really deviated from the original routine.

He forgot how long it had taken him to realize that something was missing. One day as he began to program the GR to start the gravity at two hundred above Earth's gravity level, he stopped. He stood there with his finger hovering above the button. Who was he now? Where was the old him? Where was the Saiyan who had been feared by many? Where was the prince of all Saiyans, who had once commanded thousands upon thousands of soldiers? He no longer wanted to conquer, but he was still a full-blooded Saiyan. Surely, he had other goals, goals worthy for someone with his status, as one of the most powerful man in the universe. He felt his talent wasted; his drive gone. He had no more aspiration. His life had been training, eating and sleeping, nothing more, nothing less.

His rival, Kakarott, left to train the insignificant brat, claiming that one day the brat's power would far surpass the Saiyans. Then, his rival would eventually have a strong opponent to spar with. Kakarott at least had a goal. What was his?

He crossed his arms, no longer felt like training. He left the GR, breaking his routine for the first time. He returned to his bedroom. He entered quietly, careful not to wake the sleeping Bulma. Perhaps, his woman sensed his mood. She cracked open her eyes, surprised to find him standing in the room.

"What's wrong, Vegeta?"

"Nothing."

His woman was not convinced but did not press on. He did not return to training, only silently stood by the window and stared at the sky beyond.

The next day was the same. He did not train. He stayed in the GR without turning it on. He ate in his usual silence. Even though on the surface, his routine did not change, but nonetheless, his woman had caught whiff of his unusual behavior and mood. She grew concern and probably had good reason to be.

He woke up the next day at precisely five o'clock. Unlike his usual routine, he just sat up but did not move. He stayed in that position for more than fifteen minutes. His woman began to stir. He could feel her hand on his thigh, gently rubbing it.

Finally, she asked him. "What's wrong, Vegeta?"

He had made a decision long time ago to stay on this small planet. Today, he was not sure he could continue to do so. He felt this small world, growing smaller, suffocating him. He had to know if he had made the right choice. He would not be able to find the answers here.

"Bulma, do you still have the spaceship?"

His woman popped up, eyes scrutinizing him, reading him as if reading a book. He looked away, fixing his eyes on the window.

"Why do you want a spaceship?"

"I need some time alone," he stated. He did not want her to pry. He did not want to explain. He got out of bed and walked over to the window, raising his head to the skies. It was vast, but paled in comparison against the endless, bottomless and immeasurable universe.

He expected his woman to protest, threw a tantrum or two, maybe even cry, but she did not. Her reaction threw him a little off guard. "What about the kids? What should I tell them?" she asked.

She planned to let him go without asking a single question. He was grateful for he really did not have any answers. He just felt that he needed this trip to find the Saiyan who had faded with the flow of time.

"Tell them whatever. Tell them the truth," he said. He knew his youngest would probably throw a fit and the oldest would be disappointed he was not invited. They probably missed him at first, but they would learn to live without his presence. After all, Kakarott's brat did just fine without their idiotic father around.

"Will you be back?"

_Will he?_ He had not considered this question. Maybe. Maybe not. He guessed it would depend on what he finds. Either way, Bulma deserved the truth. He would not lie to her. "I don't know."

There was a sigh, a heavy one. "I was afraid one day you will leave us."

He felt his chest grew heavy. The thought of leaving her had never crossed his mind until today. He steeled himself. He could not stay. The longer he stayed, the more he felt smothered. Before the prince of the Saiyans completely disappeared from this universe, he had to reclaim him.

He wanted to tell her she was not the reason why he had decided to leave. This was his problem, his selfishness had prompted this decision, but he did not tell her.

"The spaceship is in vault. It's in a capsule on the top shelf," Bulma finally said after a moment of silence.

"Thank you, Bulma," he said. "Thank you for everything."

She cried.

* * *

**A/N: **Vegeta is my favorite character in DBZ. I always thought he was the better father and husband compared to Goku. But seriously, I always wondered if it had ever crossed his mind to leave his family behind. This is my way to explore this question. I admit, Bulma's reaction to Vegeta leaving was a bit calm, but she's a smart woman. She felt it coming. She could force him to stay but she knew the cost is much higher if she did.

Please tell me what you think so far! Do you think Vegeta will not leave his family no matter what? Is this considered out of character?

Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2 - Search

**A/N: **Thanks Cara2012 and LambdaDash for your review and anyone else who's reading this fic!

* * *

**To be a Saiyan Again**

**Chapter two – Search**

* * *

His eyes snapped open. It was dark and quiet. The only sound he heard was from the running engines. It took him a few seconds to remember he was no longer home. He pushed himself off the small bed that barely fit his large frame. He looked to his right out of sheer habit. No Bulma.

Shaking his head, he glanced at the digital clock. One past five. Even in space, his internal clock continued to work.

Right beside the head of his bed was a double door locker, large enough to fit his belongings, but nothing compared to his wife's extravagant closet. He growled. Now was really not the time to think about her. He stood up and took a few steps to the small locker, opened it and pulled out a towel. Despite being away from his house, the morning routine was still ingrained in his cells. He walked to the gravity control center in the middle of the small confined ship and programmed it to fifty above Earth's gravity. This ship hadn't been upgraded since he last used it. This was the same ship he had taken during those three years. The three years he had trained to prepare for the androids' attack. The three years that had changed his life forever.

He threw a punch and then a kick, feeling his body became alive again. What was he searching for? He asked himself while kicking the air in rapid succession. Why did he choose to leave now after twenty years? With each punch, he cried out, letting his voice filled the empty and silent ship. He should have left after Frieza had been destroyed, but his pride had kept him rooted to the Earth's soil. Kakarott had surpassed him. Him, the purest blood of all Saiyans, had been beaten by a mere third-class clown. He should have left after learning Kakarott had decided to stay in the afterworld, but there had been a nagging voice within him, telling him that Kakarott would one day return. So he had waited and Kakarott did return, and with some unorthodox persuasion, they had finished the unfinished battle between the last two surviving Saiyans. What had been his excuse, his reason for staying after that?

Four hours later, he was on his hands and knees, heaving and puffing. His sweats slid down the tip of his nose and dripped onto the cold base. The gravity level was at the maximum, three hundred above Earth's level, but he was feeling the weight as if he was training at six.

The beating of his heart slowed and his breathing returned to normal. Instead of going to the shower as he normally did, he got up and dragged his sore body into the dining area. He braced himself for an attack, but there was none. No Bra.

He felt ridiculous. Everywhere he turned, he thought his brats would jump out, either attempting to give him a hug or simply to play a prank on him. They did that a lot. Trunks used to be the master of pranks, before maturity finally caught up with him.

His youngest had an uncanny ability to seek him out wherever he was, running to him with tears, joys and many other emotions that plagued a human mind. He had never wanted to deal with her so he had pushed her away, telling her to find her mother. Now that he was millions of miles away, he wondered if his youngest could still find him.

Scowling, he shook his head, ridding his brats from his thoughts. They were no longer his concerns, he reminded himself.

The cabinet was filled with enough rations to last a Saiyan for a few years, some contained in capsules while most were simply just can goods. He ripped open the door. The contents from within dropped, clanking against the hard base. Ignoring it, he retrieved a can of processed ground beef. He tore open the lid and threw it aside. He cringed his nose. Bulma might not be the best cook, but her foods sure as hell tasted and smelled better than this junk.

Again, they plagued his thoughts, refusing to leave him in peace. He lost sleep because they had repeatedly danced in his head at every hours of the night and every seconds of the day. He had caught himself muttered his woman's name and accidentally shouted for Trunks to shut up. He had been training practically nonstop just to force them out of his mind. He could not return to that life where every day was the same, where his talents and skills were wasted and unrecognized. He scowled and popped the food in his mouth, swallowing without chewing.

The destination was near. It had been a long time ago since he entered this space coordinate. He walked to a nearby window. From the circular pane,he could see the endless dark void. As the ship drifted closer, all he saw was debris floating within the black universe. Those were not asteroids. They were pieces of what had once been his home planet, Vegeta-sei. To start his journey, he thought he had to return to where it all began. The place he was born. The place he had been prince to all his subjects. The place where all warriors had lived as warriors. The place he was taken from. The place Frieza had made mockery of. The place Frieza had destroyed. Now this place was nothing more than rocks and dusts floating endlessly and aimlessly, forgotten by its descendent. Until recently, he, too, had almost forgotten his origin, his heritage and his history.

_Daddy? Mommy said we not full human. What we? _

"We are Saiyans, one of the strongest race in the universe," he answered out loud as he watched what had once resembled an armor, now torn and shredded, floated by. He had never explained his origin to his youngest one, not that she could understand anything at the age of three.

_Dad? When I'm older, can you bring me to Vegeta-sei? I know it's not there anymore but I want to see where my ancestors once lived._

He had grunted and shrugged, wondering why the hell the kid had brought that up out of nowhere. He looked to his side. For a second there, he thought he saw Trunks smiling idiotically at him. He shook his head to clear the image and returned to the window.

Vegeta-sei. Nothing but dusts. All the hundreds of thousands of warriors' life gone in mere seconds with a single attack. He had felt hatred toward the one responsible, so much hate that it had twisted his perspective of life. Though without Frieza, he wondered how different his life would have been. Saiyans, while a powerful race, were just like some country boys in the grand scheme of the universe. He would have been king to powerful, yet mindless subjects, wearing the crown as if he was the most supreme, not knowing there was another world out there. Had Frieza never happened, perhaps, he would not be the Saiyan he was today, purposeless and directionless.

Regardless of what would have happened, should have happened, he had been left alive without his people. Two left in the whole universe, while the others were tainted with human blood. He sighed. Even the two full-blooded Saiyans had now become so altered that his own father would not have recognized him.

_Daddy! Saiyans are the bestest!_

"So we are," he said and then turned away from the window. He returned to the bridge and walked to the control. Where was he next destination? What did he want to find? The answer was not here. Then where?

* * *

His eyes snapped open. Once again, at precisely five o'clock, his body forced him awake, not caring that he fell asleep only an hour ago. Instead of getting off his bed, he sat still. His eyes slid to his right. No Bulma.

He had to stop doing that. He scowled, running his fingers through his thick, hard hair, frustrated at his own inability to push the woman from his mind. He flipped the small blanket aside and swung his legs to the edge. He got up and headed to the locker. He pulled out his one piece blue suit and slipped it on and then his armor and boots. Adjusting the gloves on his hands, he walked to the circular window again.

His next destination should be close. From the sensory radar installed on this ship, he had found life-forms on this next planet. As the ship drifted closer, he could see the planet covered with inhabitable terrains. He felt it. The ki of those who lived on the surface. Some were strong and some were so weak, he could barely detect it.

The ship came to a stop and landed with a big thump. He stood still, unaffected by the sudden quake.

He walked to the exit and waited for the door to unlock. The latch hissed and the door slowly launched backward, exposing the dried sulfur land. He wrinkled his nose. This place stank really bad. Was that the smell of rotten corpses?

Stepping out, he raised his head to the dark red sky. Unlike Earth, the sun was nowhere to be seen. To think there were actually life-forms here was astonishing. Even Saiyans would not pick a place like this to live.

With his eyes closed, he tried to sense the closest habitation. Thirty miles east, he felt a group of different ki congregated in one area. Without a second thought, he levitated off the ground and flew that direction.

As he neared, he saw a camp and within it, he could feel ki rising and falling unsteadily. From the ki, he sensed fear. He sensed horror. And most of all, he sensed hopelessness. He knew he should have turned back. He knew it was none of his goddamn business what was going on inside. As he kept on thinking what he should have known, his body glided closer to the base, until he reached the entrance, until he went through the entrance, until he was in the middle of the camp. He descended.

It had been a long time since he saw scenes such as this. Perhaps he, too, had led a very sheltered life after the defeat of Frieza. All those memories under Frieza's rules came flooding back to him. There had been countless time where he had been the one herding dispensable life-forms to be sold into slavery. Besides being overly sadistic, Frieza had been what they would call a entrepreneur on his woman's planet. Wherever there had been profits to gain, Frieza had been there to collect.

He had never thought that after Frieza's demise, these trades were still active on other planets. Right. He knew, but simply did not care as it did not affect him. Not that it should affect him now. All he had to do was leave the same way he came, pretending not see if pitiful souls caged inside small boxes that barely the size of a human child.

He tried to ignore them, but his sight reluctantly drifted to the cage on the far left corner. Within it, he saw two reptilian younglins, probably the same size as his youngest, with a leather leash strapped around their neck and their feet chained together with iron bars. He did not know the biological structure of these creatures but however they were built, he doubted that he should be seeing their skeleton pushing against their skin.

The prince of Saiyans did not care for anyone with exception of his family. Since they were many millions of miles away, there was no one else he had to worry about. But he noticed that he could not tore his eyes away from them. Their sunken eyes stared hauntingly back at him, not pleading for his help, but simply just stared at him. It was fleeting. The image of young Trunks appeared, replacing the small one on the right and the image of Bra, replacing the other.

_Bra love Daddy! Do you know why, Daddy?_

_I don't give a damn why._

_Because Daddy is the bestest and Mommy said Daddy always protect Bra._

They did not need his protection, not when Earth was painfully peaceful. He had grunted as usual, had given her a scowl and had walked off.

Tearing his gaze away from the two younglins, he forced himself to head toward the exit. It could have been Trunks and Bra in there. No it couldn't. Trunks was too strong to be captured, but what about Bra? What about Bulma?

He cursed. _Saiyans are warriors, fighters, not some stupid saviors or babysitters. _

_Dad? Do you remember the time you saved us from Buu? I just want to tell you...during that time, I felt safe even with Buu terrorizing the world, I just know you will protect us. No matter what._

He had always been a bastard and had never claimed to be anything else, so why, did his brats trust him so much?

_Vegeta,_ _I understand you need your time alone. I just want you to know. I know you will find your answer and I have faith that you will come back to us. _

Not just his brats. Bulma as well. He had lived on Earth for more than twenty years. Not once did he give them the impression he was a trustworthy man. On the contrary, he had shown he was capable of falling back to his old ways at moment notice. So why did they trust him?

"Hey, who the hell are you?"

He turned around and saw two amphibian creatures with scales running down the side of their neck and their skins were plastered with a thick layered of puss. Big bulging yellow eyes that looked like it was about to fall off the sockets stared back at him. The most repulsive were their colorings, blinding pink and orange.

He growled. This was just what he needed. They were not worthy to know his title and name. He narrowed his eyes and shot them a warning stare. He was not in the mood to deal with these no name lowlifes, but if provoked, he would be happy to abide to their death wish.

"Looks like we have another stupid one who wants to be part of our little collection," said the one to the left. There was a slimy smirk on his face and puss dripping from the mouth.

"You think he'll fetch us some good nuggets?"

"Looks strong enough. He should be a good trade for the armies."

Those two obviously did not know how to read ki. If they did, they should automatically sense to growing agitated power emitting from him.

Those two obviously did not have a brain. Even without ki sensory ability, anyone could tell from how his eyes started to twitch with impatient, how his jaw grinded together, how his eyes went from mild annoyance to extreme irritations, were sure signs of their soon to be inevitable demises.

What had this universe come to? It only had been a little over twenty years. He was sure that there would have been someone else claiming Frieza's throne. He had searched for that person the last few months, but to no avail. Perhaps there was no such person. Every planets he had visited were just occupied by cronies such as these. A bunch of loose sands with no one ruling them. The trade system created by Frieza was pretty much intact from the look of this place, but it seemed to be run by brainless mercenaries.

Did he want to step up and claim the throne? To be the ruler of this universe?

_Vegeta, you know, you are king in this family. I'm always at your service and no one but you can rule over those little monsters. _He had been promoted to a king status. How very kind of her, he rolled his eyes.

Was that what he had wanted? Did he want to make that his goal? To be a fearless ruler?

He fixed his eyes on the two before him.

What would he do if he became the ruler of this universe? Continue the trade system? Purge some planets?

He saw the bright red one moved to the left. His eyes followed him.

"Come on, Synth, let's go get him!" yelled the orange one.

"I'll take the left, you take the right," the one named Synth said.

It would be too easy to obliterate them. One ki blast and no one would know they ever existed.

He uncrossed his arms and extended his right one. He channeled his energy from his arm to his palm, aiming at the one to the right, the orange one. He put on his best malicious grin and let go of the sizzling vortex of energy.

_Daddy bad!_

It should be easy and it was...but...

_Daddy bad!_

The blue orb flew toward the frozen amphibian only to miss the distressed face. The orb skinned his head, leaving a trail of burnt mark as it shot pass him and through the cracked stone wall, disappearing into the horizon and then it exploded. Even at a great distance, the land trembled. The dark red sky flashed another shade of red, along with orange and maybe even yellow. Some might even think the effect was astonishingly beautiful.

Damn kid. He had every intentions of removing the slimy head from its body. In space, there were no rules and restrictions on who lived and who died. The strongest survived and the weakest became playthings or just simply died. Besides, he did not have to answer to anyone, not his wife, his son or his daughter. But damn kid had impeccable timing, sneaking in his thought at the most inconvenient moment. He rolled his eyes.

He heard gasps from every corner of the camp. The two cronies' eyes widened as if those could get any wider. He snorted.

"Oh shit! Biayth, let's get the hell out of here! We're no match for him!" the orange one cried out, inching backward while watching to see if he would blast them again.

He didn't. He allowed those two wretched creatures to escape. He was not in the mood to remove their head from the body anymore. They scrambled, tripping over flat lands multiple times before they finally reached the turned to the exit.

He snorted. Good for nothing cowards. Suddenly, ruling over these numbskulls did not sound appealing at all. When he was about to make his exit, he heard a collective pleading from behind.

"Please! Please let us out!"

Even if he did, they would be herded back again like helpless sheep. He looked over his shoulder and his eyes unconsciously fell upon the left corner where those two younglins were kept. They did not beg for him to help like the rest. They just stared at him; this time with a different expression, an expression he had seen before. An expression he had seen on Trunks' face when the boy was young. When the boy had witnessed his spar with Kakarott, when he had turned Super Saiyan 2 and shown his boy exactly what he was capable of. He saw the same expression on Bra when she had watched him train.

It was an expression of awe and respect. He had been searching far and wide, halfway around the universe, if the universe was even measureable, for an answer to the emptiness he thought he had to fill. In a way, he found it in the eyes of those two younglins.

It was too easy to lose faith in one's worth when living in peace for too long. One's talents would become wasted in the midst of battleless days. Mundane life would slowly creep in, routines would form, goals would change or simply forgotten. Peace. Earth had seen peace for way too long. So long that he, too, had lost sight of what was really important to him. He sighed.

Lifting his hand, he pointed to the cage on his right, with minimum effort, he shot a golden beam and hit the latch with precision and then accurately disintegrated the chains around their neck and feet. The door opened and the pitiful creatures scurried out. He proceeded to the next cage and the one after until almost all were opened. He did not free them out of the kindness of his heart. Perhaps it was because he did not want to have them on his conscience, especially the haunting eyes of the two younglins.

His finger pointed to the last cage and shot his last beam. The two younglins stumbled forward. Unlike the rest of the creatures who had made their way to the exit, only muttering a quick gratitude, these two stayed behind. When he was about the make his own exit, he felt a pull on his armor.

He looked down and growled, but his face softened just a little when he saw those eyes staring at him. For the first time, they smiled, widely. The shorter one grinned, showing her two front missing teeth. "Thak yu" The other one beamed even wider and said the same two words.

For a moment, instead of seeing the two small creatures, he saw his lavender-haired son and his pig-tailed daughter.

They were smiling.

_Come home, Daddy!_

_Come home, Dad!_

_Vegeta, we are all waiting for you._

He finally remembered he had vowed to keep his family safe. He glanced around the camp again. Today, he would make another vow. He vowed to spare them the truth of the universe, to protect them from being a victim of unethical trades such as these, to keep them away from being caged animals. As long as he was still alive, these unregulated laws of the universe would never fall upon Earth. And that was the promise from the prince himself, the prince of all Saiyans.

Even if he had to endure the painful routine. Even if he had to suffer through their bickering and bantering. Even if he had to shed his Saiyan's way.

Saiyan's way. He realized now there was more than one way to be a Saiyan. He had once chosen to hold on to his pride as a ruthless fighter. Now, he chose to rekindle that pride as a fearless ruler, a ruler to the two annoying demons and his voluptuous blue-haired succubus.


	3. Chapter 3 - Home

**To be a Saiyan Again**

**Chapter Three – Home**

* * *

His eyes glided to the digital clock. Five. This time he did not wake up since he did not sleep at all. It was not like he was anxious to see his woman and the kids. No. It was because that damn engine was roaring so loud it had prevented him from getting any sleep.

He continued to lie on his hands that were tucked behind his head and stared at the ceiling in silence. His final destination was near, only a few more hours and he would be back on Earth. It was fortunate that he would arrive around noon when no one was home. Bulma would be at work, Trunks with his friends and Bra at the day care center. The last thing he needed was to deal with mushy and gushy reunion. He rather returned the same way he had left, quietly with no one to send him off and no one to greet him back.

Getting up from his bed, he took a few steps to his locker. He opened it and looked inside. He pulled out his casual wear, black tank top and a simple grey pants. It was not like he didn't want to train. It was not like he couldn't focus. It was because all the training attires he brought either smelled like rotten sewage or torn from his intensive training.

He headed to the circular window, passing the dining area on the way. It was not like he had no appetites. It was simply because the foods were so sordid that even a rat would drop dead from eating it. Saiyans were blessed with strong digestive system, else he would be already on his way to see that damn Yama again. In a few more hours, he could just scour his woman's pantry for marginally decent provisions.

He reached the window. He looked out. With the dim light behind him and the blackest absolute darkness ahead, his face reflected clearly on the glass. He had changed, he realized. On days he had happened to spend more than a few minutes in front of the mirror, he remembered he had more lines around his eyes and deeper folds between his brows. It was still there, those lines and folds, but not as clear as it had once been. Unconsciously, he brought his fingers to the bridge of his nose and massaged it. When did the lines start to recede? He frowned, feeling the skin folded against his fingers and then sighed. He realized now, the Saiyan who had come to Earth more than twenty years ago was dead…had died twice and reborn twice. The Vegeta of the past was no more.

For the next few hours, he stood still, staring past his reflection into more darkness until a bright orb emerged. He had not given the planet more than a quick glance before, but as the orb grew larger, he noticed Earth was actually not unpleasant to look at, especially compared to the other planets he had seen during this trip.

The ship suddenly jerked and he felt the gravitation pull as he entered the Earth's atmosphere. He stood, unaffected by the speed. The darkness disappeared, replaced by the mist from the clouds. The city soon came into view and within minutes, the ship came to a completely stop with a thump.

From the window, he saw the lawn and in the lawn, he saw his woman standing beside his eldest and in front of her stood his youngest. All seemed to be waiting for someone and that someone must be him.

Damn Kakarott or that oldest brat of his! They should really mind their own goddamn business. Only they have skills enough to sense his arrival from outer space. Now, he had to deal with this dreaded reunion.

Scowling, he took a quick turn and walked toward the exit. With a push of a button, the door hissed and the ramp extended. He stepped out, feeling the warm summer breeze against his exposed flesh. He looked ahead. He saw them. They saw him. They did not run to him and neither did he.

This was not what he had expected. This was more awkward than if they just attacked him. He took a step forward and then another, walking deliberately slow, watching their reactions. They were uncharacteristically quiet. Trunks had his hands shoved in his pockets, looking indecisive of his next move. Bulma had her hands resting on Bra's head while her eyes were fixed on him. He could tell she had many words to say but at the same time didn't know where to start. Bra. Her reaction baffled him the most. She was always the feisty one, unafraid to speak her mind. To have one minute of peace when she was around was heaven to his ears. But now, not only was she quiet, she also did not look at him, choosing to stare at the green grass with a deep frown on her face.

Once he stood in front of them, Bulma finally said, "Vegeta, welcome home."

"I'm glad you're finally home, Dad," Trunks said uncomfortably.

He nodded and continued to walk by them. As he passed Trunks, he felt a kick on his shin.

"Daddy, I hate you!"

Startled, he lowered his gaze to the pig-tailed blue-haired demon. She stared up at him with red swollen and very angry eyes. Her fists clenched tightly beside her; her chest puffed up and down.

When was the last time his little demon became angry with him? Come to think of it, never. She had cried. She had whined. She had thrown tantrums that could very well make his day miserable. But from his memories, she had never exhibited any hatred or resentment toward him. He supposed he deserved it. His gaze continued to look into her angry eyes, at lost of what to do next. He had never been the one to use flowery words nor did he know how. He had never been the one to volunteer any physical affection that these humans used to comfort one another.

He turned to Bulma and Trunks and tilted his head downward to Bra, motioning them to take care of her. Bulma stepped forward and rested her knees on the grass. In a soft voice, she said, "Bra, honey, you can't talk like that to your father."

"But Mommy! Daddy left..." his youngest started to say in a strong voice, but did not manage to finish the sentence before suppressed tears started pouring from her eyes. She brought her little fists to her eyes and rubbed them. "Daddy…" she sobbed, "…left because…" she sobbed again, "he don't love Bra…anymore."

"That's not true, honey. You see, " Bulma said as she raised her head to him, "Your father's back."

"He leave…" she said with a hiccup. "again."

This was why he did not want a reunion. He sighed and looked at Trunks who shrugged, looked just as lost as he was at what to do.

With a heavier sigh, he forced himself to say, "Bra, I won't leave again." He then continued his path to the compound, until he felt arms around his left leg. He looked down and saw Bra wrapped around him, her face buried in his calf.

Had it been before, he would growl and curse, screaming for Bulma to take her off him. Today, he would let it pass since he was the one who had made this scene possible. He sighed and crouched enough to reach her. He placed his hand on her head, not tousling or anything, just resting his hand there.

She startled him again by pouncing on him, throwing her hands around his neck, gripping it tightly. Her legs secured around his torso. Her head buried deep in his shoulder. "Daddy, I'm sorry. I no mean to kick you and say I hate you," she cried. With each word, he could feel her head rubbing against his shoulder. "I miss you a lot a lot." He could feel wetness soaking through the strap of his tank top. "I want to show you my dawing but I can't find you…"

He wanted to apologize. He really did. But the words were caught in his throat. He just stood there silently as Bra continued to soak through his tank. Her snots sticking to his flesh. "Daddy, I miss you a lot a lot." she continued to say between sobs, her voice muffled. Hatred, he could deal with, but this...

Bulma stood. She had attempted to pull Bra away from him, but the little one was stubborn. She held onto him tightly, shaking her head, refusing to let go. When Bulma tried again, he shook his head. Today, he would let his little demon win.

* * *

It had taken a while for Bra to finally cry herself to sleep. He had held onto her until she did. When was the last time he held her besides picking her up from her outer wear? He probably never did. Trunks had received a hug from him, but it had been only that one time. Bra had hugged him plenty, but it had been mostly one-sided.

The door behind him opened and in came Bulma, walking slowly toward him.

"She's finally asleep," she said.

He nodded. He looked down and saw Bra's hand still wrapped around his finger, refusing to let him go even in her sleep. Careful not to wake her, he slid her hand off.

"Did she cry the whole time I was gone?" he asked, getting up from the side of her pink lacy bed. He asked because he saw the dryness around little one's eyes that were most likely caused by constant rubbing.

"In the beginning, no. But she waited and waited, Vegeta," Bulma said as she stood beside him.

"You didn't tell them the truth?"

"No, I can't. I only told them you had something to do and you'll be back."

"What if I never come back?"

"Then I just have to go into space and drag you back myself," she said, her hand touching his arm. He studied her to see if she was joking. She was dead serious. What did this woman see in him?

He heard stirring from behind. He pointed at the door and she nodded.

They walked in silence to the dining area where he saw foods of all kinds, from roast chicken to dinosaur stew, covered the entire dining table. He watched Bulma as she sat at her usual seat. He followed and did the same. He didn't ask how long it took her to prepare the meal. He knew.

Looking around, he noticed Trunks was missing. That boy was probably angry with him, much like Bra had been. Unlike the little one who could express her feelings openly, Trunks had learned from him over the years how to suppress his own emotion. He preferred it this way. Better the silent treatment then throwing tantrums.

He started on his first piece of meat and was painfully aware that Bulma was watching him. He hesitated and laid his fork back on the table.

"Bulma, I'm-"

"You don't have to say it, Vegeta. I understand," she said, looking away. He caught a glimpse of moisture hanging around her bottom eyelids. Since she did not want him to see, he did not pry. "I'm just happy you came back."

It had taken him much effort to even form those words. Now that she had cut him off, those words were once again caught in his throat. He nodded and returned to his meal.

* * *

Night came. Beside the incident with Bra, the day had passed uneventfully. Trunks was still nowhere to be seen. Not that it bothered him. Bra had woken once, had made a big scene, searching frantically for him. She found him and once again had her arms wrapped around his neck. He was fine with that, at least for today.

He was in their bed, the big one. He looked to his right and there was Bulma. She had finally fallen asleep with her arm on his chest. He had expected her to force him to talk about his trip, maybe even yelled at him a little. She did neither. She had acted as if nothing had happened, as if he had never left.

Women. He could never understand them, not that he had much experience with them before this one. When he expected them to act one way, they would act the complete opposite.

Gently, he removed her arm from him and then got off the bed. He exited the room and walked down the hall, first taking a peep at the little blue-haired demon. Good. She was sound asleep, though, he could still hear the lingering sobs.

He then walked further down. The room was closed and he could not sense the boy behind the door. He had seen Trunks once today and that had been when he first arrived. It was not like he wanted to see the boy. He was just curious why Trunks had not shown his face. While Trunks was not clingy like his sister, the boy had always been sticking his nose where it didn't belong, meddlesome to a fault. For the boy not to be in his business today was rather weird.

Walking down the stairway and proceeded out the door. Out in the lawn, he noticed the ship was gone, probably nicely tugged away, back in the vault on the upper shelf or perhaps destroyed.

He levitated and took off.

There was a spot he had frequently visited when his thoughts were muddled. As he neared, he sensed his boy's ki, so that was where the brat disappeared to.

"Hey, Dad."

He did not say a word or returned the greeting. All he did was descended next to his son and stood beside him. The boy was sitting with his legs sprawled out in front.

"I knew you'll come here tonight," Trunks said as he leaned back and used his hands to support the weight of his body. The boy looked up at the darkened sky.

He, too, raised his head. He had been up there, aimlessly searching for the meaning of his existence. He had found it, though he had not shared it. They did not need to know. Maybe one day he would. Maybe one day he would tell them if he was in the mood.

"Do you want a piece of me like your sister?"

A chuckle escaped. "No, I just want to talk to you, that's all."

"You had the whole day."

"I just want to give Mom the chance first."

"Hmph."

"Did you talk to Mom?"

"She was rather quiet."

"That's because Mom told us not to say anything to make you feel uncomfortable. Just pretend like you never left, Mom told us. Didn't really quite work with Bra, I guess." The boy chuckled again and then became quiet and thoughtful. From the Trunks' profile, he could see a deep frown. "You know, it was very hard for Mom when you left, not knowing if you ever going to return."

He raised an eyebrow. "So you knew."

"It was hard not to. I mean, Mom had always been strong, you know. I'd never seen her cry once in my whole life."

From the corner of his eyes, he saw Trunks dropped his head back and continued to watch the sky.

"I mean, she acted like nothing happened. Told us you had something to do..."

The boy finally looked at him.

"You should see her the day you were gone. The smile she had on her face was so forced even Goten's dad could tell it was fake."

The boy turned back to the sky.

"Mom put that smile on for us and especially for Bra."

The boy moved to a sitting position, his elbows resting on his knees and his palms supporting his chin. The boy never moved his gaze from the sky.

He rolled his eyes upward, trying to find out what the hell the boy was looking at. Was there something up there he didn't know about?

"After that, Mom brought her work home. You know, she never did that before, but ever since you left, she worked every night until dawn sometime."

He remembered seeing a pile of papers, binders, folders all scattered on her dresser.

"I heard her one night. She probably thought we were all asleep. Mom was crying, Dad," Trunks said with a strain in his voice. "I never heard her cry before, not even during that time."

He knew the time Trunks was referring to but was told that Bulma had indeed cried.

"I don't want to see Mom like that again."

The day he had told her his decision to leave, she did the same. He had been able to steel himself, had told himself she was just too sensitive. He had been a bastard, had acted like one, but they had always known he was a bastard from day one. He had never told them he would change for them. He had never given them the impression he wanted to change. Why did each of them act like they needed him so much? Why did they still want him back?

"Dad, please, don't ever do that again."

Even in the dark, he could see his son's colored eyes staring back at him. The boy frowned as he said, "I don't ever want to come back to this spot, just waiting and wondering if your ship will ever show up."

So that was why the brat kept on watching the sky. Trunks had been here, probably more than he should, waiting.

He had never given his role in this family much thought. He had never made it his business to think how his existence or absence could cause another to suffer. He had learned at a young age that to protect oneself, one must learn to counter fear, pain and suffering with hatred and anger. He had thought that it was only natural that his family would follow these laws of nature. He had expected to be hated, resented. But not in a million year did he think that they would miss him. Him, the Saiyan prince, who had done nothing to earn their trusts. He had not provided, had not contributed and had not done anything besides just being there. Even knowing all of his defects, they still chose to be loyal to him. He did not deserve it.

"Trunks, this is my spot. Don't ever come here again," he told the boy and then lifted off into the air, leaving Trunks behind.

He heard a light chuckle followed by a laugh. "I don't like this place anyways."

* * *

It was quiet in his house once again. He walked back to his room. Good. She was still sleeping or at least pretended to sleep. He didn't unmask her facade. Slipping back into bed, he laid on his side. He looked to his right. There was Bulma. Soon, she would roll to his side. Sure enough, not even a second later, he felt her arms around him once again. Her head rested on his chest, snuggled against him as if he was one of those pouches.

He rested his hand on hers and whispered, "You can't get rid of me now, woman."

She smiled.

* * *

**A/N:**This is the end of Vegeta's journey and he's back with his family, yay! Technically, I could have ended this fic last chapter, but I thought I should tie up loose ends and write the effect Vegeta had on Bulma, Trunks and Bra during his absence. I had originally planned for this chapter to be in Bulma's POV but then decided last minute to switch it back to Vegeta since this is his journey.

Please tell me what you think of this little piece, either on the story as a whole or just this chapter. I wonder if Bulma, Trunks, Bra and Vegeta's interactions were believable. Should it be mushier? Like more hugs and kisses? I don't mind hearing your true thoughts. I mean everyone has their interpretation, I want to know yours.

A big thanks to LambdaDash, Cara2012, Ghostkid33, elleelle and lilDBZbuddy89 for your awesome reviews on the last two chapters.

Thank you all for reading!

**The End.**


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